The Storm

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Rain Noise, Open Waves, Wind Noise

Waves crash against a fifty foot cliff made out of jagged, grey-to-brown covered stone topped with a thin layer of dirt which weeds and grass about knee-high are swaying, sticky with rain water that's still bucketing down. The storm's so strong it feels like it could blow someone away. Good thing the coast is vacant tonight.

The sky is a turbulent indigo-grey with clouds that shift and swirl menacingly above like a whirlpool in the sky. In the distance, the sky lights up with electricity tracing temporary cracks from the heavens to the horizon. Thunder rumbles low at times, but others it seems to crash so loudly it feels possible for lightning to strike not a foot away when least expected. It's ludicrous for anyone to be out in this weather, let alone be up this high.

In the distance a port can be seen, with its docked ships shuddering against the wind and waves. It's a miracle lightning hasn't yet struck any of the masts, which could very well stretch to the height of the cliff. There are some lights in the buildings in the nearby city, the only sign of life as far as anyone can see. The rest is nothing but thick woods and eventually mountains. The next town'll take five days to get to ground-ways, maybe a day and a half by air.

The storm is one of the fiercest this place has seen in years. A lot of people are taking it as a bad omen. And, as lightning strikes the ship nearest to shore and alights, it appears they might be correct.

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